Addiction
by Silver Damascus
Summary: He smelt like sickness, like sweat and addiction. A smell Carson knew all too well. [Carson and Rodney Lost Boys whump.]
1. Chapter 1

_"Oh, I have an inkling…"_

Whiskey, glass. Clink.

Chair, hand - reach. Cold metal. Pull - scrape. Sit.

Whiskey, glass. Clink.

Whiskey, glass. Clink.

"Come back here! What are you leaving me here to die?" it yelled, shrill, hysterical. "You hate me. Want me to suffer. Well I'm suffering now are you happy? Happy. Happy, no-ones happy. All happy hehehe."

Laughter, pain wracked, bitter, sharp and cold.

He lifts the glass again, tosses his head back as it touches his lips but there's no rush of liquid into his mouth. He pulls it back and stares at the glass, only a small amber bead left circling the base.

"Carson, Carson!" the voice cries again

He sighs and rests his head against the glass. He wants more but the bottle seems so far away, no thoughts of whether he should or he shouldn't keeping his hands where they are, just the sense of pain and futility.

"Please, please, please." it wept "Just a little more."

More than a little desperation there as well.

"Just a little more," it sobs through the closed door.

Carson prays it cannot be heard by anyone in the infirmary. It's shut in the private room behind his office, still, he knows that with the amount of noise it's making they probably can. Part of him doesn't want to care, thinks that it deserves the humiliation and the pain for the things that he knows its going to say and do to get what it wants. It'll do everything it can think of, the enzyme is all it cares about.

There is another part of Carson's mind, the stronger part that knows his friend is in there somewhere. Knows that it isn't his fault, that Rodney was only trying to help. He knows how much courage it must have taken him to dope himself and attack the guards. He wants to treat it with the contempt it deserves but anything he does or says will hurt Rodney a dozen times more.

"Just a little more, just a little more. Carson I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please."

_Shut up, just shut up._

"Carson!" his name isn't even a word now, it's a choked string of sobs and cries. A prayer, a plea.

"Help me."

The hand holding the glass shook.


	2. Chapter 2

He waits until it falls silent.

He doesn't know how long it takes, long enough to hear more pain and hatred from a loved one than he ever thought he would. Long enough for him to wonder whether it isn't his own muscles that are beginning to revolt. He stills them and heads back in, his grasp on the handle stills. It blurs under his eyes, from whiskey or tears or maybe both.

He kicks at the wall. His fists join in, striking the surface again and again, tearing the skin and bruising the bone. He feels nothing from flesh but knows that it bleeds, bringing with it, finally, tears. His voice joins in as the world turns red and grey, fury and anger and pain and fear.

This isn't the place. This isn't the time. He wipes the tears away.

The blood continues to run.


	3. Chapter 3

It's finally looking at the figure on the bed that it hits him: Rodney, his friend.

_It's not your friend and you know it, you know what It is, you know what It does to -_

God he looks so tired.

His face is pasty white and strained red. Sweat drips from his entire body. He smells like sickness, like sweat and addiction. He starts to shudder. Small convulsions, tremors - he hates seeing anyone in so much pain, anyone, let alone someone he - He wants to take the restraints off and hold him close, hold him tight until the tremors subsided but he doesn't dare. He knows the effects of withdrawal on the human body, far better than he should.

He won't underestimate it or what its capable of. He won't even contemplate the extra effects of the alien enzyme Rodney made himself take. He doesn't want to know the monster it can create. He doesn't want to think it might be stronger than them both.

He hated being helpless. Just standing there being unable to do or say anything that would help him. He has no enzyme to wean him with, no substitute. He doesn't know what to give him to help calm him, too afraid that anything he gives him would react the wrong way.

No knowledge, no medicine, no damned enzyme or cure.

He just stood there. Helpless. Alone.


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm sorry."

"Fifty-two."

He took another shuddering breath and felt something cool dab over his forehead. It was him again, the gentle hands, the gentle voice that reached out to him even in the depths, the line of safety he could never reach. So much sadness now in the gentle one's voice, no longer a song, just broken words that made no sense. He didn't doubt he was responsible for that, he always was. Father yelled, mother screamed, all his fault.

"I'm sorry." he whispered, to them, to him, to the world.

"Fifty-three." the broken voice replied.

He was damp and couldn't move, everywhere hurt. He'd done something, he must have done something so bad but he couldn't remember. Couldn't remember it at all. He could only remember the pain, the pain and the gentle voice.

He could hear water falling from somewhere, was it raining? He didn't think it was raining, but he didn't trust what he thought anymore. He opened his eyes and strained through the light until he could see. It was a man, turned away his profile to Rodney. So familiar…he knew that face, those eyes and he knew what he had done, not what he had said or what he had done but he knew he'd tried to hurt him. Carson, his friend.

"Carson," he pleaded.

He was so alone now, so cold. Carson was warm, he was always warm. Never cold to anyone, not even him, oh god please don't let him have been the one to make Carson cold. He needed the warmth right now, needed the safety.

"Carson," he whimpered.

Carson rung the cloth again but he didn't look up. Was he so angry that he wouldn't even look at him? Oh God, what had he done. Whatever it was he did he didn't mean it, just please don't be angry, don't be angry.

"I'm sorry," he cried "Please."

"Fifty four," he sighed "A hundred and seventy four."

Carson pushed himself away from the stool, his shoulders slouched, Rodney watched him walk away.

"I'm sorry," he wept, "I'm sorry."

Carson didn't look back.


End file.
